


Disbelief

by CynicalRainbows



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28732866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalRainbows/pseuds/CynicalRainbows
Summary: Prompt fic in which Anne struggles when she faces disbelief from the other queens.
Relationships: Anne Boleyn & Catherine of Aragon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Could have sworn I posted this on Ao3 before, this is an old fic!

‘I’m not lying- honestly!’

She’s as sincere as she can be, her voice almost becoming a wail, but all it results in is some uncomfortable shifting among the other queens. 

Cathy chews her lip anxiously, Kitty clings to Anna’s hand and keeps her eyes on the carpet. Jane and Aragon share a little glance of disappointment, as if they’re regretful on Anne’s behalf that she’s choosing to keep the charade up for so long rather than just owning up. As if they expected better of her.

(Everyone professed to have expected better of her back then but it was just something they said in order to distance themselves from her and thus from the king’s displeasure. No one wanted him to remember them in the context of Anne- and from the way they talked, an outsider could have easily gotten the impression that, far from being the favoured ladies and gentlemen of court, companions and advisors to the queen, they were mere acquaintances at best- watchful, disapproving but never intimate. In truth, whatever they owned to having expected, Anne knew that many of them had been hoping for this, for her disgrace. That her disgrace was being played out in much grander terms than even her most stubborn detractor could have dreamed of made it no less welcome.)

She tries again. ‘What would be the point of taking a message that concerns all of us and then deliberately hiding it from you? I was in as much trouble for not turning up as you were!’

‘No ones saying you hid it Anne.’ Jane’s using her calm, let’s-all-be-adults-here voice- sometimes, she likes to wind Jane up by mimicking the tone to make Kitty laugh but now it’s just sort of making Anne want to throw something at her. ‘We’re just saying if you did take the message and forgot….’

‘Except I didn’t.’

‘Then it would be fine. If you just admitted it.’ Aragon is losing her patience, Anne can tell, but then again, it doesn’t take all that much nowadays. (She wonders sometimes if perhaps Aragon simply used it all up in her first life, leaving none in reserve for her second, if the long days of sewing altar cloths and saying her rosary and waiting for her husband to come back to her have left her dry.)

‘I’m not admitting to something I didn’t do.’

Anna rubs the back of her neck uncomfortably- Anne knows she’d rather not be doing this, would rather not be there at all, that if it weren’t for Aragon calling them all together, she’d still be in her room, staying out of things.

‘It’s just….you were the only one here when they called, babes.’

(Anna, more than any of them, knows the value of staying out of things for her own protection, possibly because, out of all of them, she was the only wife given the option to do so. Anne doesn’t want to resent her for that- she knows it wasn’t Anna’s fault that she received a pension and a title, where she and Kitty got only a hack of the headsman’s blade. She’s working on it.)

Anne knows that if Anna were given her choice, she’d take the blame herself for not taking the message rather than open things up to accusations and denial.

(It’s this tendency that makes her frustratingly difficult to dislike, her willingness to take things on herself in order to smooth things over.

She remembers that dinner that Anna apologised for burning on the night that was technically Cathy’s turn to cook, while Cathy- tearful and exhausted looking after too long at her desk- hovered anxiously in the kitchen doorway; she remembers the glitter than Anna managed to ‘spill’ over the changing room, despite the fact that no one but Kitty ever made glitter part of their makeup routine, and the way it took three full months for it to fully disappear.)

She doesn’t want that for herself though- she doesn’t want Anna to cover up for her when she hasn’t done anything that requires covering up.

‘I know, but I also know I definitely didn’t take any messages.’ She suddenly gets inspiration. ‘Cathy-’

The girl twitches at the sound of her name as if she’s being brought out of a dream- which, Anne reflects, is probably what is happening. As the old saying goes, you can drag the Cathy away from her desk, but neither god nor man can make her think of anything but her work once you’ve done so. Or something like that.

‘Cathy, didn’t I fully admit when I spilled coke on your laptop? And when I borrowed your top and it shrank in the wash?’

‘Um. Yes.’ 

Triumphant, Anne continues. ‘So why would I not admit to this? Right?’

Cathy looks as if she’s considering it, but Aragon cuts in with a frustrated sigh. ‘Because this isn’t something that can be fixed with a sponge or a trip to TopShop? Because the journalist was not pleased that no one was there to be interviewed- we’ll be lucky if they don’t do a revenge piece on us for wasting their time now…. And word will get out, even if they don’t. This sort of thing always does.’

‘Since when do you know about how this sort of thing always works?’

Aragon snorted. ‘As if it takes a genius to work out that they’ll be annoyed- as they have every right to be. Use your brain, Boleyn.’

Ouch.

‘Kitty-’ She turns to her cousin. ‘C’mon, you believe me right?’

All the queens immediately turn to look at the girl and Anne deflates as Kitty shrinks back under the weight of their collective gaze, hiding herself behind Anna. Anne doesn’t exactly blame her- she knows that her cousin doesn’t do well with this sort of pressure, that anything akin to interrogation tends to make her panic- but she’s a little hurt, all the same.

No, she’s a lot hurt- hurt by Kitty, hurt by all of them.

Looking at their still, steady faces, it strikes her that they really don’t believe her- they’ve made up their minds. They’re not just doubting her anymore, they’ve just...decided.

She feels a chill, and she’s sure it has nothing to do with the temperature: This is what it was like before.

The feeling rises in her throat like bile- she suddenly needs to leave, she needs to be somewhere else, just to prove to herself that she can leave (this time)- and they don’t try to stop her as she mumbles an excuse and makes for the door.

(They’re probably taking it as proof of her guilt, and that stings with memory too- the knowledge that no matter how she composed herself, whether she wept or kept silent, whether she begged or stood firm, it would be wrong.)

*

She has nowhere to go but she can still walk the streets, and so she does, trying to calm herself with the knowledge that there is nothing (nothing but the fact that she has no money, nothing at all, with her) to stop her from just walking forever- no one is going to stop her, no one is going to try to entrap her. No one is going to call for her death. This time.

She reminds herself that this time is different, that this time is completely, utterly different- but the memories rise up, surround her, and she sinks helpless into them, further and further, as she walks.

She acts as if it doesn’t concern her and mostly, it doesn’t….really. Now though, it’s as if she can feel the hot glares from the courtiers on her back, taste the stuff, fetid air of the chamber, breathed out by too many people. The flurry as candles burnt out and were replaced by frantic servants; the ache in her back, her legs, from the long hours of sitting. The cold, dead eyes of her uncle, as if she were a stranger to him- Henry Percy stammering out the sentence and collapsing, as if struck down by his own cowardice, his own betrayal. George, beside her but too far away to touch- wanting to look to him for comfort, and making herself keep her eyes straight ahead lest they read something into it with their nasty, filthy, suspicious snakes minds.

Making her own speech, with her hands clenched into fists at her side, the way her own voice sounded thin and inadequate in the huge room- the sinking feeling of helplessness, the weakness of her own defence against their impenetrable certainty of her guilt. ‘Like banging your head against a wall’- Such a foolish phrase but so apt too, she knew she could beat her head bloody before they’d hear her.

The frantic, useless tears that she couldn’t hold back while in the tower; the ceaseless, relentless hammering as the scaffold was built. The scared faces of her ladies, the way they shrunk from her as if her shame was contagious.

The blank faces of the crowd around the scaffold- Mother and Father both gone, both long gone- all watching to see if beheading really would kill a witch or if, even then, she had some secret magic planned-

The sword had gently grazed the back of her neck as it hovered, as her executioner readied himself for his swing and she’d had to bite back a scream, bit so hard that she died with the taste of her own blood in her mouth, but no tears on her cheeks, not then-

She walks until the sky darkens, she walks as street lights flick on and the pavements begin to empty. She walks through residential streets, through parks, past rows of shops and rows of stalls. She walks by the river, until the gently lapping water reminds her too much of the water lapping against the barge that carried her into the tower- and then she walks quickly, almost running to get away, until she has to duck into an alley to retch behind a row of bins. 

(She can still hear the water, she can still hear the rowers, and the creak of the gate being raised-)

She knows how she must look to the few passers by who spare her a second glance- a silly drunk girl, lost far from home. They’re only half wrong.

She’s collapsed on a bench- too sore, too weary- to walk any longer when there’s a hand on her shoulder.

For a split second, she (hopeful and ridiculous) thinks she’s going to see Cathy or Jane, that they’ve found her, that they’ve come to take her home and reassure her that they believe her after all…. But of course it isn’t them (stupid, stupid). The woman looking down at her with concern is blonde like Jane but the resemblance stops there.

‘Excuse me- sorry, I just wanted to ask if you’re ok?’

‘Um-’ She’s not quite sure how to respond. ‘Yeah. Fine.’

‘Are you sure? Just- you’ve been sitting there for quite a while.’ She waves a hand towards the glass fronted cafe-bar behind them. ‘We saw you from our table inside.’

It’s not pleasant, knowing that complete strangers have been watching her, speculating about her- but it isn’t this woman’s fault.

‘Yeah. Just needed to sit.’

‘Is there anyone we can call for you? We could get you a taxi if you like-’

It’s tempting, but she shakes her head, forcing a smile and forcing herself to her feet.

‘No, it’s fine. I should be getting back anyway…’ 

‘Ok...if you’re sure….’

It’s true, she knows she can’t sit out there all night. And she knows where she is- sort of (she’s not a complete idiot to not at least vaguely keep track of where she’s going)..... She’ll have to go home eventually.

She knows this.

(But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t dread it.)


	2. Chapter 2

She takes a perverse pleasure in the fact that it takes a good two hours more before she’s on the doorstep, even though it means her feet are painful- sore and bleeding- by the time she’s home.

She’s hoping she’ll be able to sneak up to her room unobserved but of course she isn’t so lucky- for one thing, she manages to trip over the edge of the doormat (she never pretended to be overly graceful) and for another, Aragon is waiting for her in the living room.

Damn.

‘Anne?’

She’s too busy rubbing her banged knee to bother to answer.

‘Where have you  _ been? W _ e were so worried!’

‘What do you care?’

It’s surprisingly easy to talk freely to Aragon, but then, they’ve always been able to understand one another, even when they haven’t actually liked one another all that much. (She suspects it comes from the fact that really, despite everything, they do share some similarities, stubbornness- or tenacity, depending on whether you ask Jane or Cathy- being one.)

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘What do you think?’

There’s a relief in talking to someone she  _ knows _ , without duty or obligation. Aragon and Jane are the only ones she knows from  _ back then, _ but even Jane she only knew briefly (not that she had wanted to really but even if she had, it would have been tricky, the girl ever surrounded three deep by cousins, brothers, uncles, all desperate to steer her towards the King).

‘I’m not playing games here, Anne.’

Aragon though she has known both as a mistress and friend (back when she was just another maid in waiting, back when court was frightening and the King was a distant golden young man), and as a rival: they have lived closely together, seen bitterness and jealousy and pettiness and anger in one another. 

‘Well good. Neither am I.’

‘You’re being ridiculous!’

She has never felt the need to obfuscate with Aragon- she knows the woman can take anything she might throw at her, she knows nothing will surprise or shock her. She doesn’t feel the need to protect her, like she does with Kitty, nor does she need to worry overmuch how Aragon perceives her (like she does with Anna, Jane and Cathy). 

‘Well, you’re driving me to it- as if it matters where I was, for gods sake!’

Aragon has seen her, all of her, even the parts of her life she is least proud of, so she doesn;t need to hold back. She can be  _ honest.  _ (For once.)

‘What do you mean by that?’

And so can Aragon, it seems. She wonders if the woman in front of her feels the same relief at the fact that she can be just as annoyed in front of Anne as she wants to be- no need to soften herself so as not to scare Kitty or to protect Cathy’s possibly slightly idealised view of the godmother she never knew in her first life.

‘Well it’s not like you’ll believe me if I tell you, right?’

‘You’re such a  _ child  _ sometimes! Did you not think how much it would affect Katherine, you just leaving like that? She’s convinced you hate her.’

She feels, simultaneously, a twist of guilt deep in her stomach, but also, a little flame of anger.

‘Well did it occur to-’ She bites off the ‘her’ that’s about to come out, she’s not just angry at Kitty. Although she is angry- angry and hurt- with all of them. ‘-to all of you that it perhaps wasn’t the most fun for me to have you all against me like that? That maybe I didn’t want to stick around for any more accusations?’

‘Over a phone message Anne, for goodness sake-’

‘It doesn’t matter what it was- if it wasn’t important, why did I have you all confront me over it at once? So don’t you dare pretend I’m overreacting now!’

‘Anne-’

‘And none of you even considered that I might be telling the truth’ She wants it to sound more forceful but it just comes out tired. She’s weary of defending herself, she’s weary of trying to prove herself to people who have already made up their minds. ‘Why would you even be worried about me anyway? Can’t love someone who can’t even be trusted, right?’

‘Anne-’ Aragon’s brow furrows, as if she’s genuinely confused by this. ‘We- obviously, we still  _ care  _ about you. Even if-’

‘Even if you all think I’m a lying whore?’

Aragon flinches. ‘God. No. What are you even talking about?’

The words had sounded funny in her head, flippant, but they’d landed with more weight than she’d intended. 

‘Well-’

‘Look.’ Aragon rubs her face tiredly. ‘I’m sorry, ok? You’re…..absolutely right. We didn’t believe you. But it wasn’t fair of us to all to refuse to give you the benefit of the doubt. And we were worried- honestly.’

‘Right.’

‘Really. Anna and I went out for a bit to see if we could find where you’d gone.’ Anne’s head lifts a bit. ‘Cathy was in charge of trying to call your phone, from all our numbers, to see if you’d pick up.’

‘...Didn’t take my phone.’

‘Ah. Well, that’ll explain why it didn’t work then. Cathy thought you were just ignoring her. Jane-’ Aragon pauses. ‘Well, Jane was honestly mostly focused with trying to calm Kitty down and reassure her that you weren’t going to get killed. But she was worried too.’

‘Fair enough.’

She says it nonchalantly but she does feel a bit bad too. (She’s glad, in spite of everything, that Kitty has Jane to take care of her when she isn’t around.) But it still isn’t enough to make everything ok- she feels guilty, but it doesn’t take away the hurt.

She keeps flashing back to their blank, hard faces- all of them against her, all of them believing her guilty. Just like before.

‘Should be proud really- all that fuss for a witch, people are usually glad when they leave the town in peace-’

It’s like she can’t quite keep back the barbed little jokes, even though she knows they’re not really...appropriate. She should accept Aragon’s apology, she should go to bed- but she can’t.

‘-or get burnt at the stake. Whatever it takes to get rid of harlot, right?’

She’s always been honest with Aragon, is the problem- too honest, usually. It’s hard to have a filter.

‘Obviously I came back though…. It’s like they say, whores are like syphilis-’

‘Anne!’

Aragon is looking at her almost angrily- her grip on Anne’s shoulders is fiercely strong.

‘Just….stop. Ok? Stop.’


	3. Chapter 3

Aragon is looking at her almost angrily- her grip on Anne’s shoulders is fiercely strong.

‘Just….stop. Ok? Stop.’

‘Why?’ Her voice cracks, tears burn behind her eyelids. ‘You know what they say-’

‘No.’ Suddenly Aragon’s voice is very gentle, and that actually silences her better than even a threat would. Her hands loosen on her shoulders- an arm slips around her waist, she’s being led to the sofa. ‘It might be what was  _ said.  _ A long, long time ago. But not any more. Not not.’

‘It  _ was _ said.’ She almost spits it at the other woman. ‘Do you think I’m exaggerating it?’ Then her stomach sinks. ‘No...of course you do. Obviously.’

‘No.’ Aragon’s hand is cupping her cheek- oddly gently- she’s trying to make Anne meet her eyes. ‘That’s not at all what I meant. I’m sorry, I know it’s what was said. I remember too. But it’s not what people think. It’s not what we think.’

‘Sure.’ Does she really need to remind Aragon- she’s read the history books too, not as many as Cathy maybe but enough to know it’s still being repeated:  _ everybody  _ knows she was the temptress,  _ everybody  _ knows she was the harlot.

‘ _ Yes. _ ’ She can tell Aragon is getting frustrated- she’s actually a bit surprised the woman hasn’t snapped at her yet. (Why is she holding back?) ‘Anne… I promise you, we’re all on your side. We don’t believe all of that...stuff, ok? We know it’s not true. We know you’re...not any of the things they said back then.’

‘Why?’ A tear escapes, and she tries to brush it away with Aragon noticing. ‘None of you were there….and it’s not like it even matters now anyway. This was over the phone thing, not- all of that...’

‘We still know it isn’t true- that it wasn’t true.’ Aragon takes both of her hands in hers and looks at her intently, and Anne’s attempt to pull away is of the feeblest sort. ‘We believe you Anne- we all believe you, we all know you’re not any of the things they said.’

Another tear, and then another: she can’t hide them from Aragon anymore. She tries to turn her face away, to stand up- but Aragon’s arms are insistent in pulling her back.

‘You’re a good person. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve what happened to you. And we all know that’

A sob breaks free and then her face is buried in Aragon’s shoulder, her arms around her tightly.

‘I’m not...I-’

‘Shhh.’ There’s a hand against her hair, gently smoothing it down again and again. ‘You are. You’re a good person. Terrible things happened, terrible things were said about you but we know they weren’t true, we all know they weren’t true. We believe you.’

She didn’t know it was what she was waiting to hear, but the sense of relief that floods her is immense.

_ They believe her. _

Now that she’s heard it though, she knows it should be enough- that she should be able to sit up again, wipe her face and go to bed since all is well. She finds that she can’t though- even though there’s no reason for her to be crying- not now, not anymore- she can’t stop. She gasps and shakes and fall completely apart really, in a way that is completely embarrassing- but Aragon’s arms stay tight around her, holding her together.

‘It’s alright. It’s all alright.’ 

When she feels herself being dislodged, she finds herself actually whimpering, clinging like a child- but then a handful of tissues are pressed into her hand and she’s being held tightly again. (She wouldn’t blame Aragon for laughing at her neediness but she doesn’t. Somehow.)

Eventually, her tears dry up, until she’s just sniffling, feeling pathetic.

‘I’m….sorry.’

‘It’s alright.’ Aragon’s voice is very gentle, very understanding. She wonders if this is the side of Aragon that Cathy sees all the time. ‘Are you….ok?’

She nods uncertainly- is she? Is she really? She does feel better though.

‘I think...we should all have a talk tomorrow.’ It’s said slightly hesitantly. ‘I think we all owe you an apology- and the others will want to make sure you’re alright too.’

‘Ok…’ She doesn’t really want the apologies- she’d rather pretend none of it ever happened now- but she supposes she can’t get out of it. After all, it’s not like anyone else will forget that she ran out into nowhere (unfortunately). Suddenly, she just really wants to change the subject. ‘I should probably go to bed actually, thanks for-’ She starts to pull herself up from the couch (and tries not to mind that it’s colder now she isn’t pressed up close to Aragon’s warmth).

Aragon nods. ‘Ok. Do you need anything first though- are you thirsty? Hungry? You didn’t have dinner-’

‘I’m fine-’ The lie is interrupted by her traitorous stomach rumbling and she can tell by Aragon’s raised eyebrow that she’s heard it too.

‘Really?’

Denying it would be pointless so she just shrugs- Aragon smiles suddenly.

‘Come on.’

Anne follows.


	4. Chapter 4

Pancakes. Aragon makes her pancakes. 

It’s utterly unexpected, for two reasons- one, that Aragon Doesn’t Cook (Anne was expecting maybe a sandwich or something) and two-

‘Pancakes?’

Aragon looks at her blankly, fridge door still open as she hunts for the eggs.

‘Yes. Why? Do you not like them?’

‘No, I do….’

She isn’t quite sure how to express how odd it feels for Aragon to be making her Sunday-morning-treat-breakfast-food at gone midnight (and after she’s just cried all over the woman, no less) without it sounding really, really ungrateful so instead she settles for ‘I didn’t know you knew how to make pancakes.’

‘Everyone knows how to make pancakes. Boleyn- it’s just eggs and flour and milk. And stir.’

‘Yes but...you’ve never made them before.’

‘I’ve never made them for YOU before’ Aragon corrects, retrieving the whisk. ‘I make them for Cathy sometimes.’

‘When?’ They nearly always all eat breakfast at about the same time and even if she had managed to not notice unexpected pancakes, she’s sure Kitty wouldn’t.

‘Usually about the same time of night as now.’ Aragon sighs. ‘You know she doesn’t sleep properly. Or eat properly, half the time. Sometimes I can tempt her with pancakes if she’s still awake though…’

There’s so much affection in the older woman’s voice that it makes Anne’s heart hurt for a second, wondering if anyone will ever love HER that much, to go to great lengths just to make sure she is taken care of. 

(She can’t imagine anyone, family or friends, ever going to the trouble of cooking for her in the middle of the night just because they want her to have something nice. She can’t imagine anyone doing it who wasn’t paid to do so.)

Then Aragon asks her to get the flour and it occurs to her that...well, that’s  _ exactly  _ what is being done for her right now. The thought is enough to make her well up all over again (god, what is WRONG with her?) and she has to blink hard as she roots around in the cupboard, taking longer than she needs to to find the paper sack.

(Aragon does not ask what is taking her so long and she’s grateful.)

When she finally moves away, she notices a smear on the tile floor- her foot is bleeding through her sock, not that it’s a big surprise. (Her feet really are quite painful.)

She doesn’t like looking at the blood though- even though it’s colour is indistinguisable against the tile, even though it’s barely noticeable- she doesn’t like looking at it. It’s the same reason she had just kicked off her shoes at the front door without checking to see how badly they were blistered- if she just ignores the fact that she’s probably bleeding, she won’t have to see the blood on her own skin.

(Thank god her socks are black. The red against the white would have been too much to handle. It’s for precisely this reason that neither she nor Kitty own white clothing.)

She goes to grab some kitchen roll, meaning just to wipe it away quickly and forget about it but Aragon notices, asks if she spilled something.

She’s considering saying yes when Aragon grabs the kitchen roll herself, dabs at the little smear of dampness on the tile. She tries not to look but she manages to catch a glimpse of the bright red against the crumpled tissue and suddenly, she’s dizzy, she’s sick- her head feels light- her neck is burning, burning- she stumbles back-

_ (Bloodbloodblood, blood on the scaffold, blood on the axe, blood on her fingertips where she’d bitten them raw, blood in her mouth from biting her tongue, a darkness on the planks that could even be George’s blood, and the pain, thepainthepain-) _

Then Aragon’s hands are steadying her, helping her into a chair.

‘Ok. Easy. Just keep breathing.’

Her voice sounds very far away- warm hands gently urge her head to her knees.

‘You’ll be alright in a minute. Just focus on the sound of my voice.’

She’s trying to but the blood is forcing itself behind her eyelids, she can’t help seeing it, it’s everywhere, everywhere-

‘Anne. Open your eyes for me.’

She can’t. She knows what she’ll see if she does- her own blood-soaked corpse- and she can’t see that because she knows it will send her mad if she does, she can’t-

‘Anne.’ The voice is firmer now. ‘I know you can do it. Open your eyes for me.’

She shakes her head, a tiny jerk that still makes her stomach roll unpleasantly. She prays silently that she won’t actually throw up on herself.

‘Yes. You can. Ok? You can, you just need to be brave.’

A hand finds hers, squeezes it.

‘You can do it. Just open your eyes.’

She has a sudden rush of fear that the hand, the comfort, will be withdrawn if she doesn’t, and as much as she fears what she might see, she fears being left alone even more and so, with sheer force of will….she does. 

No blood. No blood, no corpse, just Aragon kneeling in front of her, holding her hand and looking relieved.

‘Well done.’

She tries to answer Aragons smile but her lips are trembling too hard for her to remember how, and it’s a relief to be pulled back into the safety of Aragon’s arms so that she can stop trying.

‘It’s alright. You’re ok, I’ve got you.’

She means to pull back after a moment, to try to limit her imposition (she can’t imagine how much Aragon is wishing she’d asked Anna or Cathy to wait up for Anne instead) but it’s harder than she expected, and the feeble attempt she makes ends only with Aragon pulling her closer.

‘I’m fine. I was just being-’

(It’s possible that this assertion is made slightly less believable by the fact that her face is still buried in Aragon’s neck but it’s still worth trying.)

‘You don’t have to apologise’ Aragon interrupts. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for. It was the blood, wasn’t it?’

She nods into Aragon’s shirt.

‘That’s fair enough.’

‘It’s pathetic. It was the tiniest smear.’

‘Still.’ Aragon lets her sit up but doesn’t move away and for that she’s grateful. ‘And it’s not like it’s the weirdest one anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, we all have…..quirks.’ The corner of her mouth twitches into a small smile. 

‘You don’t all go to pieces over a drop of blood. Well except for-’

‘True’ Aragon concedes. ‘But we do all have our own things we struggle with. Like Jane, when she gets ill. Or when she thinks she’s getting ill. Or how anyone mentioning how she looks makes Anna a little….tense.’

Anne nodded slowly.

‘Cathy gets anxious about expressing her opinion sometimes-’ Aragon went on ‘Not that it really stops her but still. And as you said, Kitty doesn’t like blood either. And she’s still not really comfortable around men yet.’

It’s all true- Anne is a little surprised Aragon has been paying such close attention.

‘Even me-’ Aragon pauses for a second as if considering whether or not to continue. ‘Do you remember when we were going out last week? And I got….left behind?’

‘Yes…’ She does remember- everyone talking at once had resulted in crossed wires and five of the queens starting for the cinema while Aragon was still in the shower. Of course, it had been sorted out easily enough.

‘It took me twenty minutes to calm down before I could even text Jane to ask where you’d all gone.’ Aragon looks Anne straight in the eye. ‘Even though I knew it wasn’t true, the first thing I thought of was that you’d all gone without me deliberately.’

Anne’s mouth drops open. ‘We’d never-’ The words trail off though- she’s thinking of another life, of the train of horses and carriages carrying the court far away, of herself riding at the side of the King, of the laughter of the King and his favourites at their cleverness in getting away. She’d felt guilty at the time but that’s nothing to how she feels now.

Aragon doesn’t sound angry with her though.

‘I know that. But still…. Anyway, you’re not the only one, is what I meant.’ 

‘I had no idea…’

‘Well, no. I didn’t exactly want to broadcast it.’

It’s said briskly, but her eyes are kind and Anne nods. It’s so easy to feel alone, so it’s good to be reminded that she isn’t, not really.

Aragon doesn’t look particularly uncomfortable but at the same time, she can imagine what it’s costing her to be so candid about something she’d obviously planned to keep hidden. She feels a twinge of guilt, that if it wasn’t for her, Aragon wouldn’t be forced into sharing….but it feels nice also, to know that she’s willing to do just to comfort her.

‘Now. We probably should sort your feet out before we do anything else.’ Aragon stands, offers Anne a hand up. She takes it. ‘Pancakes after.’

Aragon insists her keeps her eyes closed while her feet are tended to and does it all herself. Although it’s usually either Anna or Cathy who are called when someone is hurt (even though Kitty and Anne have it to a much stronger degree, Jane shares their aversion to blood), her hands are very gentle, her touch very delicate, and Anne is reminded of the care that the ex queen used to put into her needlework, even when it was just sewing basic garments for the poor.

By the time Aragon is finished, her feet are throbbing but clean of blood and covered with plasters.

‘All done. How are they feeling?’

‘Fine.’ (She can deal with physical pain. It’s...other things that she struggles with.)

Aragon looks as if she doesn’t really believe her but she nods anyway.

‘Good. Why don’t you go and get comfortable in the living room- I’ll bring the pancakes through to you in a minute, you must be absolutely shattered. After- everything.’

She really is-if she wasn’t so hungry, she’d just go straight to bed, and it’s a tactful way to refer to her series of small breakdowns but her cheeks burn anyway as she gets up from the edge of the bath. (She’s been vulnerable around the others for very short limited periods before but this evening has been...quite intense. She couldn’t pretend that she doesn’t feel better for it- mostly- but she also still has a slight urge to hide in a box, at least until Aragon starts to forget the sight of her crying and hyperventilating.)

‘Ok.’

She pauses in the doorway for a moment, shifting slightly on her raw feet.

‘Aragon-’

She turns from putting things back into the medicine cabinet/

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you. For- everything.’

‘Anytime. Really. Anytime.’


End file.
